Shamrock Kisses (High Five #3)

Chapter 1

1

Friday, March 14th

“ T hanks for getting me out of Chicago for the weekend. Does it really get that crazy for St. Patrick's Day?” I ask my friend and co-worker, Brandon, as he drives us to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, for the weekend. It will be good to get out of the city for a couple of days. To chill and unwind. Staring at a screen for nearly every waking minute can’t be healthy. I need a digital detox, and Brandon needs to reset after a big fight with his on-again, off-again girlfriend.

“Yeah. Imagine being surrounded by thousands of suburbanites drinking green beer and puking it up in the street.” Brandon’s barely keeping his hand on the wheel of the Rivian SUV as the self-driving features guide us along the highway. I don’t own a car—minimalism suits me.

“So, it’s just us at your family’s lake house?”

“Unless you find some townie,” he teases.

“Good joke.” It’s emphasized by me reflexively pushing my glasses up my nose.

The idea of me finding a girl is absurd. I’m a nerd. The quiet coder who doesn’t have a suave bone in his body.

Staring out the window, my mind drifts to the minor platform updates I need to push once we get to the lake house. I should try to make this weekend into a retreat and go to bed at a reasonable hour for the next couple of days. Staying up until four in the morning is another bad habit—especially when paired with late-night snacking.

“It’s too cold to go boating,” Brandon says, pulling me back to the present. “There are some great restaurants in town, though. But we’ll probably spend most of our time on the property.”

“I still can’t believe your dad is Kent Dubois.” He’s only a billionaire.

We pull through a huge, ornate gate. Brandon’s family’s lake house is a mansion. I inwardly chuckle that they call this place a lake house. It’s more like a resort.

Having grown up in Minnesota, I’m still getting used to Chicago’s dynamics—especially how people “summer” as if it’s a verb. I definitely wasn’t raised thinking of seasons that way.

“Don’t be so impressed by Kent,” Brandon says. “This house is about all he’s good for.”

We’ve been friends for a little more than a year, both working for a crypto trading platform called Cryptoball. I’m learning his relationship with his dad is far from the one I have with mine. At least I still call my dad “Dad.”

As we step inside, I take in the vast space—high ceilings, pristine surfaces—and immediately feel out of place in my hoodie and sweatpants. Before I can fully absorb the place, I notice a sweaty, beautiful brunette with a messy bun mopping the entryway. She looks embarrassed, pulling the earbuds from her ears. Was that Wind Walkers I just heard blaring?

“Sorry. We’re running behind,” she says, and I hear vacuums in the distance. “I usually have a team of four, but it’s just me and two other girls today.”

“All good,” Brandon replies, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“I know your dad?—”

“I’m not him,” Brandon interrupts. “I don’t mind seeing the help,” he says with a laugh as if he understands the absurdity of the situation.

Her bright blue eyes meet my green ones, or at least meet my glasses. I feel like I’m being studied. Why is she staring at me so intently? Standing beside her, I realize she barely reaches my chest. At five-foot-ten, I’m not exactly towering, but she’s so petite I almost feel like a giant.

I smirk, checking her out before feeling embarrassed at how blatant I’m being. Brushing a hand through my messy brown hair, I hope I don’t look as frazzled as I feel. Crumbs in my beard? I swipe at it, praying that’s not why she’s staring at me.

“Do you guys have any fun plans for the weekend?” she asks politely, looking back at Brandon. She’s probably interested in him—his trust fund and effortless coolness. Not me, looking like I just crawled out of a hackathon in my hoodie.

Her cheeks are flushed, and my eyes, once again, have a mind of their own, checking her out. She’s exactly my type—athletic but thick in all the right places. Meanwhile, I’ve got a few extra pounds I’d like to pretend are muscle, but who am I kidding? Too many late-night snacks while coding have added more bulk than I’d like.

Brandon shrugs. “We’re planning on hanging around here.”

“Well …” She hesitates, glancing at me before continuing. Her crop top features the cover art from a Brand New album. I’m intrigued. I love that band, and the top highlights her tiny waist. Does she lift weights? Her strong thighs make me think so. I push down the thought of wanting to know what her ass looks like. “If you want to get out of the house, you should come to High Five tomorrow.”

She smiles at me, and my heart rate spikes. Is this her way of saying she wants me to go there? Am I reading this situation right? She’s way too hot for me.

“High Five?” Brandon asks. “The dive bar?”

“It used to be a dive bar,” she says before looking back at me. “It has a new owner.”

“Will there be green beer?” Brandon asks, laughing lightly.

“Oh no!” She giggles, and I find everything about her cute. For someone mopping floors, she’s got an unshakable confidence, like she’s totally comfortable being the coolest person in the room. She’s got to be about my age, mid-to-late twenties. “The owner swears it’ll be nothing like that. I believe the tagline is, ‘All of the Guinness, None of the Sloppiness.’”

“Sounds fun,” I say, staring into her eyes. The quiet coder with no game. That’s me. Yet here I am, trying to flirt with a girl who’s way out of my league.

“We’ll see,” Brandon says, his tone uninterested as he walks farther into the home.

Okay, I need to say something to her. Just something smooth. You’ve got this. Don’t blow it. Maybe something about beer …

“Good thing I like Guinness,” I say softly, passing her and following Brandon. I can’t believe I managed to flirt. That was solid. I don’t need to overanalyze it. But it was a good line.

“I’ll be there with my friends,” she says, holding my gaze before my eyes betray me, dropping to check out her ass. “It’s always a good time.” And damn, she’s even more perfect from behind.

I wish I could just tell her I’ll see her tomorrow, but I don’t know if I can confirm. I need to talk to Brandon, and I really want to see her again.

Following him through the house, we stop at the panoramic windows overlooking the lake. “I get why this view costs thirty million,” I say in awe.

“I love this house,” Brandon says, smiling at the view.

“Should we go to that bar she mentioned?”

I want to go, but Brandon’s been sober for a few years. I’ve been to bars with him before, so I know that’s not an issue, but I don’t want to assume.

“I don’t know, man.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That place holds some rough memories for me.”

“All good. We can skip it.” I should be a good friend. We didn’t plan on girls being part of this weekend anyway.

“Come on.” He laughs. “You’re going!”

“I am?” I can’t hold back my smile.

“You were really checking her out. You like her.”

“That obvious?” I ask, feeling a bit nervous. “I thought I was keeping my cool.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so stunned by a girl before.” Brandon fist-bumps me. “Go flirt with her. Stop overthinking.”

“How do you know I’m overthinking?”

“Because you’re Patrick ‘The Patch’—one of the smartest, most thoughtful people I know.”

When was the last time I talked to a girl outside of work or gaming? Too long.

“I think her name is Rachel,” Brandon says with a mild level of confidence. “She seems between us in age.” Entrepreneurial. Cute.” He raises a brow. “Short brunettes are great, but tall ones …” He trails off, rolling his eyes. I wish he and his on-again, off-again girlfriend would just stay off.

“You know, not so funny story,” Brandon starts, “our last cleaning company stole a figurine worth a quarter of a million dollars.”

“Fuck.”

“It was insured, no big deal, but we had to find a new company. Usually, the house manager handles that, but Kent insisted on hiring the next one. She came over, they exchanged a few sentences, and he hired her.”

She owns a cleaning company that‘s trusted with multimillion-dollar homes. Now I’m more intrigued.

“I’m sure this is a good gig for her.”

“Yeah, but what I’m saying is that Kent approves of her. And Kent rarely approves of anyone.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I should ask her when she’s getting there.” Nervously, I walk back toward the entryway.

Looking around the foyer, I don’t see her. Opening the front door, I notice the cars that were there are now gone. Shit. That’s what you get, Patch—hesitating, overthinking. Classic . But tomorrow, I won’t mess it up.